“Everybody is taking it up,” said Miss Miniver. The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. It would be too mortifying. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. I sha'n't cry any more. She wished her father and aunt would not enjoy their dinner with such quiet determination. One transgression; he was sure of that.
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